Vivid

I had the most vivid dream last night and it is still with me. I wrote it down, wrote all about it as soon as I woke up, came back into my body, and finally opened my eyes. It was one of those dreams where you wake suddenly and you want to find your way back in. You lay there willing yourself back in, daydreaming what may have happened next, silently sending messages to those you left behind in the dream.
The effects of the dream stay all day. When it comes time to get ready for bed you dress for the world you hope your dreams allow you into again, you brush your teeth, fuss with your hair, and open the window to let in the smell of the cool night air. The breeze tickles your neck and you imagine someone else, something else there. You shift under the covers and your bed creaks as the door opens letting you back into your dreams.

I've been writing

I have been working hard on a series of short stories. So, again, the blog has gone to the wayside.
A little something I wrote for fun just warming up the other day:
I see him and I love him through and through
I have always known him
We are here to come together
Together we are something greater
Greater than the sum of all parts
Parts that create something never before seen
Seen our power is invisible but palpable
Palpable and moldable like putty
Putty we hold between us, an orb in our hands
Hands manipulating and moving through
Through time and space and obstacles
Obstacles we face are great but not insurmountable
Insurmountable odds are something we have surpassed
Surpassed by coming together over and over
Over land and oceans and planes and time
Time - we will have what we need of it in this life and more of it next time
Over and over
More time and more time
Each time we reunite
Reunite until we have a full lifetime
A lifetime to work out what we need to workout - to learn what we need to learn
We are inexhaustible - indefatigable - without end

One Down. Many to come.

On Wednesday I completed a first draft of a short story I haven't done this in at least 4 years. When Abigail was born life shifted in so many wonderful ways, but now she is 4 and Benjamin is 17 months and things are beginning to shift back towards me a bit. Self care is beginning to happen again. I am grateful.
With one story finished another has begun. I am even thinking there is an anthology of related stories here. That is what my heart, body, and characters seem to be telling me. I am making writing a daily practice again. Does that make me a writer? I think so.

April Love - Day Three - Inspiring Quote

This is a card that I bought for my brother nearly ten years ago and never sent. Somehow it has always stayed with me.

Other favorite quotes that immediately spring to mind;

People may say you are going the wrong way when it is simply a way of your own.
- Unknown

Tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it - yet." - Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery

April Love - Day Two - Favorite Flowers

Wildflowers are truly my favorites, but they are not here yet. Here in Massachusetts we still have a bit of snow on the ground and the bulbs have just gathered the courage to poke their heads out of the ground. Sweet Peas are among my favorite flowers. I looked forward to seeing them in my Grammy's garden every year. Below is a photo of a photo by Julie Sheikman titled "Sweet Peas at the Ferry Building Market, SF"

April Love - Day One - Morning View

April Love 2015 has officially begun.
My Morning View is the prompt today.

Finding Confidence. Fighting Doubt.

Good Morning! The sun is shining. I saw my first robin red-breast of the Spring this morning.  I peeked out my dining room window to redbuds on blue sky.

It is a good day.

Abigail is at preschool. Benjamin sleeps in the back seat of the car while I blog in the front.

A couple of nights ago, I was looking through some writing from five, six, seven years back. Some of it was utterly embarrassing. I know that you have to write junk to get better, but I was blushing and covering my face at some of this stuff even though I was silent and alone with it.
Just like that, the self doubt crept in. What if what I am writing now is utter junk, too, and I just don't know it yet? Why am I doing this? Do I have any business doing this? Am I just going to embarrass myself?
I took a deep breath and listened for the voice that was being drowned out. The voice that tells me to keep writing. The voice that tells me that I have been writing since I was little. The voice that reads me my very first poem that I remember writing.

Under the dark is a star,
Under the star is the tree,
Under the tree is a blanket, and
Under the blanket is me.

Slowly that voice talks me into continuing to write, even if it is all junk. So what? It makes me happy. I am compelled to do it. Just. Keep. Writing.